dered of eminent benefit to the whole western country. Its origin was humble, and it has risen to its present character and importance, in consequence of the extreme want of capable teachers in that part of the country. It comprehends a department of manual labor, which enables those young men who are disposed, to defray almost the whole expense of their education by the avails of their labor in the field; and which has enabled many to pass through the course by this means alone. Apparatus in four scientific branches have been obtained for $500, and the building is large and fine, on high ground, with piazzas towards the Ohio and Muskingum rivers. Able instructers of both sexes are engaged in the different branches. The pupils board in respectable families. Females obtain their education there, for school-teachers, for about 25 dollars a year; and there is abundant need of good schools of both sexes in all the Western states.

ILLINOIS.

INDIAN WAR. The frontiers of this state have been for some time in a ferment on account of the hostilities of the Indians. The first accounts of the progress and extent of these hostilities proves to be greatly exaggerated. There have been several murders, and almost daily intelligence of massacres on the defenceless inhabitants of the frontiers. A Missouri paper says

The war is conducted by the savage enemy with all the cruelties and barbarities that have ever marked their conflicts. Murder of the old and the young, of the defenceless infant and unoffending woman, burning and devastation mark their course. Even destruction does not satisfy their rage. Manglings of the dead bodies, and the most atrocious and disgusting indignities follow the work of death. Fifteen persons, men, women, and children, were surprised and murdered at a settlement on Indian Creek (a tributary of Fox river) on the 20th ult. Two young women were suffered to live, but were carried off to Indian captivity. small party of seven or eight men, led by Mr. St. Vrain, the agent for the Sacs and Foxes, in endeavoring to make their way to the Head Quarters of the army, were suddenly attacked by a much superior number of Indians. Two of the party were killed. Mr. St. Vrain when last seen by those who escaped was fleeing, pursued by ten or

A

twelve Indians; his fate is not yet known. His escape was barely possible, and it is feared that he fell, another victim to the unsparing rage of the enemy. Reports have reached the station of the army, that several murders had been committed on citizens of Vermillion County on the Wabash. To a requisition for men, that district answered, that its inhabitants were required at home to defend their property and friends.

The latest accounts state that the Illinois Militia, under the command of Gen. Whiteside, have disbanded and returned to their homes, their term of service having expired. About three

hundred volunteered to remain in the fortifications at the Ottawa until the new levies should arrive. The number of the drafts made by the Governor, was about three thousand. General Atkinson with the United States' troops, was still in camp at Dixon's or Ogee's Ferry, on Rock river. Orders were received by the proper officers at this place to furnish transportation for the companies ordered from Cantonment Leavenworth. A steam-boat will be immediately despatched for that post, and the commanding General expects to be joined by this additional regular force, by the 16th instant. One hundred men have also been ordered from Fort Winnebago.

In addition to this force, General Atkinson has called upon the Sioux and Menominees for one thousand warriors. These tribes, immediately on the breaking out of the war, pressed their services on the whites, but were repulsed. They are burning to revenge their wrongs, real or supposed, on the hostile Indians, and would, probably, by their experience, habits, and endurance, be more efficient, opposed to their red brethren, than double their number of whites. Although their aid has been once declined, their animosity is strong enough to induce them to take part in the war, now that they are solicited.

Apprehensions have been entertained that the tribes of the Winnebagoes and Pottawatomees had joined themselves with the Sacs and Foxes, the open and avowed enemy. But this is said to be erroneous. There is no doubt but that some of the young men of each of these tribes have taken part with the enemy, but the chiefs and principal part of the warriors remain neutral.

It is reported, we know not on what authority, that this work is to be attributed to the author of the best political satire of our times, viz. "The Breeches." The Breeches were not half so much worn as they deserved to be; but all who saw them pronounced their maker an artist of rare talent. The book before us will not diminish his reputation.

Swallow Barn has no plot or story whatever. The author tells us, in his introductory remarks, that he did not intend to make one. He had great difficulty, he says, to prevent himself from writing a novel. We wish he had made a novel of it. It was his intention to pass a few weeks in the Old Dominion, in order to portray the impressions which the scenery and people made upon him, in detached pictures, without

connexion. We must not condemn a book because it is not an Iliad, or a Fielding or Waverly novel-it is unjust to expect an author to perform more than he avowedly undertakes. Swallow Barn is entitled to the praise of being all that it professes to be. Still, we know not what to call it. It is not a poem, though rich in the materials of poetry; it is not a lean record of "first impressions;" it is not a book of travels and adventures; it is not a novel. It belongs to a nondescript genus, and may be classed with some parts of the Sketch Book, of which it is a manifest imitation. If we may hazard a conjecture, at variance with the opinions of the newspaper critics, we will that say, we think it was intended for a satire, a gentle satire on the pride, aristocratic feeling, and ignorance of a certain class, rather numerous in the south. The author seems to hint at this in his preface. "The ordinary actions of men," he says, "in their household intercourse have not usually a humorous or comic character." Again, "the undercurrents of country life are grotesque, peculiar and amusing." He says that he is confident that no one will say that his pictures are false or exaggerated. If this be true, and his book is a fair description of general society, alas for the freeholders of the Old Dominion!

Mark Littleton, the ostensible author of Swallow Barn, is a resident of NewYork. He complies with the invitation of a Virginian cousin, Ned Hazard by

name, to pass a few weeks at Swallow Barn, his ancestral mansion. He finds Mr. Hazard desperately in love with Miss Bel Tracy. Said Hazard brays and gambols like an ass, a very sorry ass, through the work, as all men in love do, especially those who are ignorant of every useful way of passing the time. The progress of the courtship is the bond, and a slight one it is, that holds the chapters of the book together. The rest of the materials are, with the scriptions of the manners and scenery of exception of two or three episodes, deVirginia.

The farther we read, the more strongly are we convinced that the author intended "to show up" the Virginians. His principal characters are humorously conceited, pompous, ignorant and dogmatic. He has succeeded admirably in showing them in a ridiculous light. logue between a landlord and his guest. Take for example the following dia

Some thirty or forty persons were collected at the Landing. The porch of the shabby little hostelry was filled by a crowd of rough looking rustics, who were laughing boisterously, drinking, and making ribald jokes. A violin and fife were heard, from within the building, to a quick measure, which was accompanied with the heavy tramp of feet from a party of dancers. A group of negroes, outside of the house, were enjoying themselves in the same way, shuffling through the odd contortions of a jig, with two sticks lying crosswise upon the ground, over which they danced, alternately slapping their thighs and throwing up their elbows to the time of the music, and making strange grimaces. A few tall, swaggering figures, tricked out in yellow hunting-shirts trimmed with green fringe, and their hats, some white and some black, garnished with a band of red cloth and ragged plumes of the same color, that seemed to have been faded by frequent rains, stood about in little knots, where they talked loudly and swore hard oaths. Amongst these were mingled a motley collection of lank and sallow watermen, boys, negroes and females bedizened in all the wonders of country millinery. At the fences and about the trees, in the vicinity of the house, was to be seen the counterpart of these groups, in the various assemblage of horses of every color, shape and degree, stamping, neighing and sleeping until their services should be required by their maudlin masters. Occasionally, during our stay, some of these nags were brought forward for a race, which was conducted with increased uproar and tumult.

wharf, and on the stern benches were seated three or four graver looking men in coarse attire, who were deeply discussing questions that occasionally brought them into a high tone of voice, and, now and then, into a burst of loud laughter. Ned had led me up to this group, and, in the careless indolence of the moment, we had thrown ourselves out at full length across the seats; Ned, with his legs dangling across the gunwale, with Wilful lying close by, and reposing his head upon his lap.

The principal personage in this collection was Sandy Walker, a long, sun-burnt waterman, who was the proprietor of the hotel, and evidently a man of mark among his associates. One of the others was a greasy gentleman in a blue coat, out at elbows, with a nose lustrous with living fire. These two were the principal speakers, and they were debating an intricate point of constitutional law, with more vehemence than perspicuity. At length, an appeal was made to Ned, by Sandy, who was infinitely the most authoritative in his manner of the whole group.

"Can't Congress," said Sandy, "supposing they were to pass a law to that effect, come and take a road of theirn any where they have a mind to, through any man's land? I put it to Mr. Ned Hazard."

"Not by the Constitution," said the gentleman in the greasy coat, with marked emphasis. "Well," said Ned, "we'll hear you, Sandy."

Sandy rose up, and lifting his hand above his head, as he began,

"I say it stands to reason -")

"It stands to no such thing!" rejoined the other, interrupting him, "if it's against the Constitution, which I say it is undoubtedly,to come and take a man's land without saying, by your leave; if I may be allowed the expression, Mr. Ned Hazard, it's running against a snag."

"Silence," says Ned, " Mr. Walker has the plank; we can only hear one at a time!"

"Why, sir," continued Sandy, argumentatively, and looking steadfastly at his opponent, with one eye closed, and, at the same time, bringing his right hand into the palm of his left; "they can just cut off a corner, if they want it, or go through the middle, leaving one half here, and t'other there, and make you fence it clean through into the bargain; or," added Sandy, giving more breadth to his doctrine, "go through your house, sir."

"Devil a house have I, Sandy!" said the other.

"Or your barn, sir."

"Nor barn nother."

"Sweeping your bed right from under you, if Congress says so. Arn't there the canal to go across the Allegheny mountain? What does Congress care about your state rights, so as they have got the money?"

"Canals, I grant you," said his antagonist; "but there's a difference between land and water," evidently posed by Sandy's dogmatic manner, as well as somewhat awed by the relation of landlord, in which Sandy stood, and whom, therefore, he would not rashly contradict. "But," said he, in a more softened tone, and with an affected spice of courtesy in his accost, "Mr. Walker, I'd be glad to know if we could'nt nullify."

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Nullify!" exclaimed Sandy, "nullify what?" said he, with particular emphasis on the last words. "Do you know what old Hickory said down there in the Creek nation, in the war, when the Indians pretended they were going to have a ball play ?"

"No."

"If you don't go and wash all that there paint from your faces, I give you the shock

ingest ball play you ever had in all your lives.""" "You dont't tell me so!" exclaimed the rednosed gentleman with animation, and bursting out into a tremendous laugh.

"Did'nt he say so, Ned Hazard? I beg your pardon, Mr. Ned Hazard.!" ejaculated Sandy, and turning to Ned.

"I think I have heard so," said Ned, "though I don't believe he used that exact expression." "It was something like it," said Sandy: "well, that's the sort of nullification you'd get."

"Things are getting worse and worse," replied the other. "I can see how it's going. Here, the first thing General Jackson did when he came in, he wanted to have the President elected for six years; and, by and by, they will want him for ten! and now they want to cut up our orchards and meadows, whether or no; that's just the way Bonaparte went on. What's the use of states if they are all to be cut up with canals and rail-roads and tariffs? No, no, gentlemen! you may depend, Old Virginny's not going to let Congress carry on in her day !"

"How can they help it?" asked Sandy.

"We hav'nt fout and bled," rejoined the other, taking out of his pocket a large piece of tobacco, and cutting off a quid, as he spoke in a somewhat subdued tone, "we hav'nt fout and bled for our liberties to have our posterity and their land circumcised after this rate, to suit the figaries of Congress. So let them try it when they will!"

"Mr. Ned Hazard, what do you call state rights?" demanded Sandy.

"It's a sort of a law," said the other speaker, taking the answer to himself, " against cotton and wool."

"That's a fact," cried Sandy, "and, in my thinking, it's a very foolish sort of a business." "There's where you and me differs," responded the other.

"Well," said Ned, "it's a troublesome question. Suppose we wait until we hear what Old Virginia says about it herself? And as for us, Sandy, it is getting late, and we must go."

These words concluded the colloquy.

The author of Swallow Barn is the best of imitators. After reading the Breeches we could almost have sworn that Dean Swift had come to life again. If we had not been assured of the contrary, we should have set down the work before us to the credit of Mr. Irving. There is the same quiet humor, the same good-natured satire, the same smooth, and sometimes quaint language, and the same evidence of extensive reading and general observation, which characterize the Sketch Book, Bracebridge Hall, and the Tales of a Traveler. We cannot say that our author quite equals his model; no imitator ever does; but he approaches him very nearly. We now feel as well acquainted with Virginia as any of Mr. Irving's readers can be with the shores of the North river.

The style of Swallow Barn is easy, and, bating a few Americanisms, correct. If his characters be not interesting, the fault is their own, not the author's. He has made them amusing, but all his skill cannot make us love or hate such insipid people. He seems to have a particular tact in discovering

the minute particles which distinguish ordinary characters from each other. In the second volume we did not need to be told to whom any speech belonged; it spoke for itself. His descriptions are singularly minute. While we read, we fancy ourselves listening to the dogs around the " gum," into which they have compelled the oppossum to climb, and to the notes of (black) uncle Carey's banjo. Of invention, Swallow Barn displays little, of connection none. The whole interest of the work consists in its novel subject and its humorously beautiful style. Of course, these remarks do not apply to the episodes. The talent of the author has created a pleasure, which a view of the persons and scenes he describes would never have given. We should like to see Swallow Barn, and perhaps to pass a week there, but no more.

In short, with all his ability, all his information, all his command of language, (and in these particulars he is surpassed by no American writer) his book will be thought by many to be rather dull. He seems to be conscious of this, for he acknowledges it in the preface. It is not altogether his fault. Setting aside the demerit of imitation, his materials are badly chosen. It is impossible to make much of them. If life in Virginia be what he describes,

we would not settle in the Old Dominion for the best estate it contains. The gentlemen of Swallow Barn are the most ordinary, trifling, useless generation the world ever saw. To be sure, they are kind, hospitable, liberal, and honorable, but how are their lives passed? If this work be what it pretends, a Virginian of condition has no use for his time but to pay and receive visits, to attend courts, and to watch the multiplication of his horses and negroes. These may be very proper employments, and may conduce to the prosperity of the state, but deliver us from such a life. We would as lief be transformed into a fixture on one of their farms.

Frank Meriwether seems to have been

intended to represent the landed proprietors of Virginia. He is a magistrate, is rich, keeps the best company in the state, and his opinions are received as oracles by all the little luminaries who revolve within the sphere of his orbit. Take the following remarks for a specimen of his intelligence.

"After all," said he, as if he had been talking to me before, although these were the first words he uttered-then making a parenthesis, so as to qualify what he was going to say-"I don't deny that the steam-boat is destined to produce

valuable results-but after all, I much question -(and here he bit his upper lip, and paused an instant)-if we are not better without it. I declare, I think it strikes deeper at the supremacy of the states than most persons are willing to allow. This annihilation of space, sir, is not to be desired. Our protection against the evils of consolidation consists in the very obstacles to our intercourse. Splatterthwaite Dubbs of Dinwiddie (or some such name,-Frank is famous for quoting the opinions of his contemporaries. This Splatterthwaite, I take it, was some old college chum that had got into the legislature, and I dare say made pungent speeches,) Dubbs of Dinwiddie made a good remark-That the home material of Virginia was never so good as when her roads were at their worst." And so Frank went on with quite a harangue, to which none of the company replied one word, for fear we might get into a dispute. Every body seems to understand the advantage of silence when Meriwether is inclined to be expatiatory.

Ned Hazard, Harvey Riggs, Philpot Wart and old Mr. Tracy are the other prominent, or, perhaps, we should say the distinguished, male characters of Swallow Barn. They are all goodnatured, worthy persons. Philpot Wart is passably intelligent and well informed. But they do nothing. No incident, of more importance than the concoction of a mint julep, occurs in the whole course of their lives, save those which are common to all mankind, viz. birth, marriage and death. They visit each other, eat, drink and are merry, and that is all. They have some excellent qualities, but no occasion calls them forth. They are very estimable, amiable, good-for-nothing people, who might have gone quietly down to their graves, and no one, save their own relations, would have been the worse or the better for the event, or have known that they ever existed but for his pen. The negroes of Swallow Barn are its only working bees. Such lives as the whites lead, may be very satisfactory to themselves, but they are very insipid to the observer. The whole book is a picture of the stillest of still life. With ten times the talent of any but one or two of our best writers, our author has produced a work that we fear may cause some yawning, but will be read-we have no doubt that it will live-such authors do not appear every day. It contains many irresistibly ludicrous chapters. Yet we must consider it, as a whole, but the promise of better things. We think of this gentleman, as we have before thought of some others, that it is pity that one who can do so well, has not done better. We hope he will soon write again on a better topic, and that he will forbear imitation, and rely on his own bright genius.

"Mike Brown" is an episode, and a very good story, though it reminds us